The Things They Parried
by KeyReave
Summary: A collection of short stories detailing the experiences of the cast of Super Smash Brothers in the Vietnam War. Based on Tim O'Brien's novel "The Things They Carried". Told from the perspective of Marth.
1. Mightier Than The Sword

Mightier Than The Sword

It's been twenty years and I still find myself writing about Vietnam. I guess it's true what they say, that war is one of those experiences that never leaves your mind. I wouldn't be surprised if when I'm on my deathbed fifty years from now, when I'm struggling to remember my own name and who the people standing beside me are, my only remaining memories would be those of Lucas' face as he stepped on a motion sensor bomb, or Link telling me "You know, it's actually kind of a nice day out here". Perhaps that's while I feel the need to put my memories onto paper, to be able to record what I saw and what I felt during my time in the Vietnam War. That way, when the only things I can remember are Robin dragging Lucario out of a fog-shrouded rice paddy in Gia Lai and Jigglypuff being shot in back of the head in while singing the opening notes of _Pollyanna,_ I'll be able to read this and figure out what all of this meant.

The inspiration for this particular set of stories came from me having come across a collection of old photos recently, allowing me to see the faces of the men of Omega Company for the first time since I returned home. While their faces were images that had never left my mind to begin with, seeing the items they held in the photographs returned a plethora of small events I had long since forgotten back to the forefront of my memory. These stories are not just those of explosion, gunfire, and the chaos that embodied the Vietnam War, but instead are those of the people who served in it. These are the stories of people whose humanity was revealed in both times of war and times of peace.

As I try to turn this endless stream of memories into a tangible story that can be told coherently, I find my writing doing the opposite of what I originally intended. Rather than giving myself a story which can be used to bring me closer to these memories, these paperbound facsimiles of my wartime experience make me feel like I was nothing more than a spectator of my own past life. The Falco I see in my own first drafts is nothing more than a caricature of the man I once knew. I'm beginning to see my own trials and tribulations as stories, using my own ideas to fill in the blank spots that don't fit into a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end. This may make my retelling less accurate, but I hope that at least it'll get me one step closer to the meaning of it all.


	2. Bookworm

Bookworm

Robin would hold books. Well, he referred to them as tomes, which I assumed was just some kind of inside joke that me and everyone else in Omega Company just wasn't in on. To be honest, my first impressions of Robin were inexplicably negative. We went to high school together, but I never really talked to him back then. For some reason, I think it was his haircut that set me off. To this day I'm not sure why, but his haircut had really irritated me, so I just came to know him as the guy with the dumb bowl haircut during those years. When we reunited in Omega Company, he had changed his haircut, and I was able to put my petty dislike of the guy behind me.

Being that we were both alumni of Akaneia Academy, Robin became fast friends with me. Robin had a kind of idealism that was refreshing to see in times of war, a kind of optimism that none of the others in Omega Company possessed. To be blunt, he had a naiveté that one has to admire, but the appreciation is always slightly condescending. Robin had the potential to be the mascot of Omega Company, a person whose unrelenting enthusiasm served as a beacon of hope that could raise the morale of the company. However, Robin had one fatal flaw.

Robin was annoying. I could never pinpoint exactly why, maybe it was his voice, his laugh, or my personal bias against his haircut. The other soldiers were much more certain about why they couldn't stand being around Robin. They hated the way he talked about the books he read, conversations that would always find a way for Robin to end up gloating about his intelligence. Anyone that made the mistake of asking Robin what he was reading would inevitably hear the stories of the prestigious university he attended before he was drafted, and the complaints he had about the rigorousness of his coursework. I'm not sure if Robin did it intentionally, but all of his complaining subtly implied that he was able to manage extremely well in this academic endeavor.

That may have been the only instance of subtlety I ever saw from Robin. He was incredibly brash about his political views, and was staunchly loyal to the liberal party. He was very forward about his opposition to the Vietnam War, and was not afraid to go into full detail about why this was so. His incessant soapboxing made even the most reluctant of soldiers roll their eyes in disdain. However, the biggest contribution to his tarnished reputation was the way he joked around.

Robin had a way of joking that involved over-exaggerated movements and a look that showed how much he expected you to find his joke amusing. More often than not, the jokes simply weren't funny. The most blatant example of this was when he would sing-along to the CD player, and belt out _Ashley's Song_ in an intentionally hoarse voice. Still, the other soldiers were too nice to let him know that nobody found his antics funny. It was this kind of cruel mercy that made Robin act the way he did. Because everyone nodded and smiled at his boasting, his political lectures, and his underwhelming humor, Robin always thought that he legitimately making our camp a happier place.

Now none of these things really bothered me all too much, but I'll admit that I would always make fun of these qualities whenever Robin wasn't around. Every other soldier in Omega Company would provide their own interpretation of why Robin was so irritating, and the ridiculing provided more humor than any of Robin's jokes ever did. My dislike of Robin was small and hard to define, but the opportunity to poke some fun at the guy was just too good to pass up. I'm not sure if Robin ever found out about it, but he did end up inadvertently raising the spirits of his fellow soldiers, even if the jokes were at his own expense. To this day, I still wonder if Robin ever found out that he was loathed by so much of the Omega Company.

It wasn't until later until I held a serious grudge against the guy, and it was a sense of bitterness that I am ashamed to admit to. We were camped out near a rice paddy in Gia Lai when the mortar fell down from the sky. Pieces of the earth flew into the air, streaking through the fire soaked sky. On my way to find safety I saw Lucario lying on the ground unconscious, presumably knocked out from a flying chunk of the land. I knew I had to help them. I knew this, but I couldn't do it. My mind was racing but my feet were locked in place. _This is the right thing to do, I have to help my fellow soldier,_ I thought. Despite this, all I could manage to do was to stare at him while slowly backing away. I knew that I would regret it if I walked away for the rest of my life, but I could not bring myself any closer to the center of the fray. All of this occurred over the course of several seconds, but it felt like an eternity. As I turned around and ran, my conscious screamed at me that I was acting selfish. I knew the right thing to do was to help him. I gulped and turned back around, beginning to approach Lucario's limp body. I then saw Robin running at me, picking up Lucario with a single swoop and yelling at me to go. I could tell that he put no thought into this decision; his conscious had no quarrels with the unspoken instinct of self-preservation. It's like the old saying goes, Robin had to be either really brave or really stupid.

My jealousy began to fester at that point, reaching a maximum point of envy when Robin received the Silver Star for his action. Robin didn't know it, but this is where he had the opportunity to truly be liked by his comrades. Unfortunately, Robin had smeared the respect that came with his medal with his inability to be humble. Too often he would retell the story about how his natural response was to help Lucario as soon as he saw he was in need. The soldiers who once mocked him would shower Robin with genuine praise at the beginning of this, but Robin couldn't bring himself to let this newfound admiration go. I wonder if he was able to tell if this kind of respect was more real than the fake smiles and laughs he usually garnered, and what a terrible revelation it would be to find out that everything that came before this newfound deference wasn't genuine. In that respect, my jealousy of Robin would never outweigh the pity I felt for him.

One night while I was taking a walk to quell my insomnia, I found Robin asleep out in the open with a book loosely tucked under his arm. Normally I wouldn't have paid it a second thought, but the Shield Crest on the book's cover caught my eye. Upon a closer examination, my suspicions were confirmed; this was a yearbook from Robin's senior year at Akaneia academy. Curiosity got the better of me as I took the book out of his arms and opened it to the page he had bookmarked. The pages were blank except for the signatures he had received from his peers. I assume he found solace and encouragement in the written words, these short messages that praised his intelligence, personality, and his jokes. If the note that praised his haircut was any indication, these messages were just as genuine as the smiles he received from Omega Company.

As I read through the messages that had been written for him, Robin slowly woke up and took a hold of my shoulder. "Those were some fun times, weren't they Marth?" he muttered groggily. "They sure were," I replied. "You know, I'm really glad you're my friend Marth," Robin said in a sleepy tone that could have either indicated meaningless drabble or a previously-unspoken honesty. I replied with, "Me too, buddy. Me too." I still was unsure of how good a friend Robin saw me as, as our initial friendship at the start of the war had been quickly overshadowed when Robin became best friends with Pit, one of the few soldiers who could stand to tolerate Robin. "Do you want to sign it?" Robin asked, momentarily confusing me. "I want to have something that allows me to remember everyone here, I figured you should be the first to sign it since you're actually in the book," Robin explained. "Sure," I said, jotting down a short message that showed my appreciation for him as a friend and how much I respected him for earning the Silver Star. Robin read the message and smiled at me. "You know I'm sorry, I saw that you were going to try and help Lucario, I know that you could have earned this medal… it's just that in the heat of the moment, you don't really pay attention to the others, you know?" "It's fine, you did the right thing," I choked, holding back the spike of jealousy his apology had spurred in me. "You know, from the moment I first saw you-" Robin chuckled before a grenade was tossed onto the jungle floor. He grunted as he pushed himself into me, fragments of the detonated explosive tearing into his legs. I wasn't harmed by the explosive, but I saw Robin sitting on the ground in a fetal position, crying out in pain. It was strange, as when I began to run back to camp, helping Robin truly felt impossible.

I knew that turning my back on Robin was the wrong thing to do. I knew that he would have risked his life to save me if he were in my position. I had a much stronger connection with him than I did with Lucario, so saving Robin should have been a no-brainer. Still, I guess Robin must have been wrong. I didn't have the strength to earn the Silver Star after all. The worst part was that my legs didn't feel as rigid as they did when Lucario was endangered. It was almost as if I had a choice, and I still chose the selfish option. I ran back into camp to tell the rest of them what had happened, and fortunately found that Robin had not died after I abandoned him. We carried him off in a stretcher and we momentarily locked eyes. It could have been just my imagination, but he moaned what sounded like, "Fault…" in between a torrent of inhuman gargles, the single word seeming to take an extraordinary amount of effort to utter. The expression on his face made it impossible to tell whether or not he forgave me for leaving him to die.

I will admit that it was sickly relieving to have heard that Robin died on the helicopter ride to the hospital. Knowing that he died a few short hours afterwards was able to diminish some of the guilt I still felt for immediately running back to camp. Our funeral for him was short and sweet. Everyone told their own story about what a good person Robin was, and how he'll be missed around the camp. It was then I found myself in the same position that Robin probably never knew he was ever in. I never asked whether or not the way they spoke highly of him was genuine or not, whether or not the compliments stemmed from an unadmitted respect for the guy that never would be shown in the barrage of jokes they made about him, or if they were just more of the meaningless posthumous accolades one gives to a fellow soldier that has fallen. The only thing I'm certain of is that nobody ever made a joke at Robin's expense again after that.


	3. Crybaby

Crybaby

Ganondorf was holding a Cucco. We were preparing ourselves for an ambush on the outskirts of a village which I can't seem to remember the name of, and while all of us held our M14s and our Colt Commanders, Ganondorf was holding a Cucco in his arms. He must have picked it up when we trudged through the smoldering pile of ashes that was once My Lai, and kept it for himself as a pet. It made no noise and shook violently, as if it was anxious about the battle that was to come. It was an overcast day and the air was at the chilly temperature that made you aware of the wounds and blisters that dotted your skin. The scar on the back of your neck just seemed to appear one day. The rough red patches where your elbows used to be. The blisters on your palm that came close to forming a perfect circle but not quite.

The camp had been silent for a while, as the knowledge of an upcoming battle provided us with a tension that filled the air like an omnipresent fog filling our lungs with dread. There was an unspoken fear that at least one of us wouldn't make it out alive. In the last battle alone we had lost Charizard, Little Mac, and Fox, and the short time between that skirmish and the next ambush meant that they all had to share an unfocused memorial service that blurred the individual contributions and memories of the fallen three into a confused mess that ended abruptly when everyone ran out of things to say. In my experience we had ended roughly half our battles in memorial services, with maybe half of those services having anything meaningful to say about the poor sucker who was blown apart by a motion sensor bomb.

It was Ganondorf who broke the silence, with a joke of all things. "Why did the Cucco cross the road?" he asked with an exaggerated grin. The silence continued as if nothing had been said, which might have been awkward if anyone really cared about those kinds of formalities at that point. A bored Ness broke the silence again. "What?" Ganondorf held out his Cucco and said "Because the chicken was on vacation!" as if presenting the Cucco made his joke any funnier. Laughter filled the air, just a little too loud to be genuine. When the laughter died down the sound of crying emerged. Luigi was bawling, his hands covering his face. For a moment I thought that Ganondorf's joke had made Luigi cry with laughter, but that hope dissolved almost instantly.

Luigi had turned away from us, and began to wipe his tears while trying to hold back his sobs. We didn't know what to do at first, and just pretended like nothing happened. Ness was once again the one to speak up first. "It's okay, it's all going to be fine," Ness murmured as he awkwardly patted Luigi on the back. Ganondorf distinctly muttered the word 'crybaby' under his breath and went back to petting his Cucco. Villager advised everyone to give them some space, and we did so.

After we cleared out, jokes about Luigi's outburst replaced the usual silence. These may have been in poor taste, but war gives one a new appreciation for cruel humor. It really made you believe in those nihilistic principles that life is full of suffering and ultimately meaningless, so you might as well laugh at it while you can. I know that sounds depressing and all, but war isn't exactly a stroll through Dream Land. The remarks were unfunny and mean-spirited, but I laughed anyways. I still feel a bit guilty for laughing at the remarks, even if I really couldn't help myself. There were a lot of things out of my control that made me feel guilty in that war.

This feeling of guilt is most likely what prompted me to go back and comfort the poor guy. When I approached Luigi, his face was still buried in his hands, although the sounds of crying could no longer be heard. Ness had now began giving a back rub to Luigi, although it still looked more awkward than comforting. Villager sat on a log directly across from the two, absentmindedly drawing circles in the dirt with a stick he had found. I was surprised to see that Link had stayed to keep Luigi company as well, as Link never struck me as the emotionally supportive type. The fact that Link wasn't speaking a word was much less surprising, however. I just stood there for a second, unsure what to do with myself. Ness looked up, stared at me for a second, and began mouthing something to me. I was never able to read lips very well, so the meaning of Ness' message was lost on me that day. Not wanting to break the silence by asking for a clarification, I interpreted Ness' words as a suggestion to sit down, and promptly sat myself down next to Villager.

As soon as I got myself situated, Villager started to mutter to me without looking up from his drawing. "I like to doodle in the ground sometimes," Villager murmured, "It reminds me of home". As far as I could tell, Villager's drawing either depicted a cloud, explosion, or half finished sheep. "I see," I replied, not quite understanding how these scratches in the ground were at all reminiscent of whatever Villager considered his home. Villager then abruptly snapped his stick in two, and began to rub out his artwork with his foot. When Villager was finished erasing his masterpiece, he looked back up and me and chuckled, "Just like home." The look in his eyes made it seem like he actually expected me to have any idea what he was talking about. Or maybe it didn't; my prowess (or lack thereof) in the field of lip reading was just as unimpressive as my ability to read someone else's eyes. I've always wondered how people were able to take meaning from the look in someone's eyes in the first place. Lip reading can be mastered through practice and observation, but eye reading has always seemed to me like a method for people to hear what they want to hear by grasping at straws in the figurative sense. I suppose that means I wanted Villager to expect me to know what on earth he was talking about. The truth is, I can't stand to think that Villager had not only lost his sanity, but was aware that we all knew it. All of us soldiers lost our grip on reality in one form or another, but we were all able to form a strange bond with one another through this trait. Villager's rambling wasn't the kind of hallucinations you experience that can be discussed with your fellow soldier, nor was it the kind of thing that could have been discussed at all. If Villager had the ability to recognize that nobody was able to understand his innermost thoughts, if he knew that he would only be able to be heard and not listened to, I hesitate to think of the few things more crushing and lonely than that.

After Villager left, I surveyed my surroundings. Ness was giving all of his attention to Luigi, who had finally lowered his hands. Luigi's face was unmoving, and displayed no emotion other than the unsettling vacancy that comes with a blank stare. In my attempt to avoid Luigi's off-putting gaze, I found myself making eye-contact with Link. I had never spoken with Link before, and I briefly considered avoiding his gaze as well in order to avoid being obliged to talk with him. However, it was too late for me to do this without being rude, and I noticed Link's eyes had opened slightly since I had began making eye contact with him, which probably signified something. At this point, I was fed up with playing the eye-reading game, and sat myself down a few feet to the left of Link. He turned his head to look at me, and pressed his lips together rather than actually saying anything. "So, you're Link, right?" I stammered, which was well-established enough at this point to fail as both a question and an observation, but it was the only thing I could think of to spark a conversation to fill the dreadful silence. He nodded at me, which was the only thing that I was confident I understood in whatever strange body-language test Link seemed so intent on administering to me. "So what are your thoughts on… all of this?" I asked, curious to hear what he thought of this war without getting too personal. Link said nothing and just looked down, as if my question had triggered some strange traumatic flashback to the war he was currently in the middle of. After a while, Ness walked Luigi back to join the others, attempting to coax him by speaking softly and keeping his hand firmly grasped onto the small of his back. At that point, Link and I were the only ones left in the area.

I quickly stood up, and started walking towards where the others were. I gave one last look at Link and waved good-bye to him, expecting him to do the same. However, Link did not wave back, and once again began to look me in the eyes. I was about to turn around when Link opened his mouth to speak. "You know," he said in a voice deeper than I had expected, "it's actually kind of a nice day out here." Before I could say anything back to him, Robin grabbed a hold of my shoulder and tugged me towards him. "Come on," he urged, "they've got O'Donnell's old music player all set up and they're playing some music right now!" I looked back back at Link, who in turn looked back down at the ground. Link would never say anything to me again after making that remark. For some strange reason, I fondly remember most of the spots of peace that dotted my experience in the war, but I can't seem to recall the specifics of whatever happened once I joined everyone else. All I can remember is that there was laughing, music, and no ambush. Although that whole night had been devoted to preparing for an ambush that never happened, it was not without the casualty we had so gravely predicted.

Everyone in the company had headed off to sleep aside from Villager and I, who were still listening to the music player. While Villager was much more of a cooperative conversation partner than Link, we had been talking long enough to run out of things to say and were now comfortable with simply listening to the quiet melodies of the music player. Something that sounded like classical music began playing, and Villager excused himself for a brief period of time. When he returned, he was holding Ganondorf's Cucco, which had been impaled through the heart with a sharp stick and was now bleeding profusely. Villager threw the Cucco into flames and watched it cook, murmuring something that may or may not have been directed towards me. I waited for Villager to explain his actions to me, but he instead began asking me questions about my family back home. I don't remember what was asked or how I answered, but I do remember thinking about how desperately I wanted Villager to turn out okay after all of this. I like to think that Villager was just messing with me, that all of the nonsensical things he said and that what he did to the Cucco was all part of some joke that he was hoping that I'd get. Maybe the world would be a better place if it was full of people like Villager and Link. People you don't quite understand, people that give you the chance to hear what you want to hear. On the other hand, one of the reasons that this war had started in the first place was because of people who only heard what they wanted to hear.


	4. Play Ball

Play Ball

Lucas was holding a soccer ball, or at least he was in my last memory of him. I can see it clearly now as I write this. Lucas, sporting a slight smile just shy of a smirk. Lucas, wearing shorts that were somehow much cleaner than his shirt, despite the fact that the latter seemed to be completely soaked in mud. Lucas, disintegrating into thin air as the motion sensor bomb detonated. These are the thoughts I should not be returning to. I would be much better off simply recalling the moments in that war that were much more lighthearted. The truth is, I don't remember anything about Lucas besides his death. His existence in my memories is limited to the very moment he ceased to exist in the real world. Is it bad that I've had to make a distinction between my own memories and the real world at this point? Regardless, the reason I felt that this story was one worth writing down is that it's one of my subconscious' favorite flashbacks apparently, given how many times I've had to relive it.

I'm still not sure why of all the horrible deaths I had to witness, this one is the one that apparently stands out the most is that one. If I had to guess, it would probably be the contrast between Lucas being incinerated and what was going on mere seconds before that moment. It's just as hard to think of anything more jovial than a game of soccer as it is to think of anything more terrifying than the prospect of being burnt alive in an instant. Well, I guess soccer wasn't the best way to describe what we were doing. There weren't any goals or goalies, so it really just boiled down to kicking a soccer ball back and forth with one another. It was basically just catch, but with kicking rather than throwing. Anyways, it was Ness' idea to do the whole catch-but-with-feet thing, and there were about five of us who agreed to go along with it.

The only faces I can remember playing along with Ness were my own, Kirby's, Villager's, and of course Lucas'. I know this means I'm leaving someone out, but for the life of me I can't seem to recall just who that sixth person was, even though I'm certain that there were in fact six of us in that circle. At any rate, my attempts to recall what happened before Lucas' death, have made me realize something troubling. I'm certain that it was dry out when we began playing with the soccer ball, but I distinctly remember it raining once the motion sensor bomb went off. Whether I'm losing my sanity or the weather somehow knew to dramatically coincide with tragedy, I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm sure you don't care how many people there were, or what the weather was like, you probably just want me to get to the point already. I myself am not sure if there is or ever was a point to be made with this anecdote, but I'll stop boring you with superfluous detail and finally this event I've avoided directly talking about for so long.

"Hey, pass it here," said Kirby. Villager kicked the ball lightly in Kirby's direction. Ness then muttered something unintelligible. "Heads up," said Kirby, kicking the ball to what could have either been Lucas or Ness. Regardless of who the ball was intended for, it went between the two of them.

"I'll get it," said Lucas, in what I think may have been the only time I ever heard him speak. In a flash, Lucas ran back a bit, picked up the ball, and began walking back to us. I'm sure that I've already went over what happened after that in enough detail for you to get the picture, but if you want to know more about Lucas' death, here's a vivid retelling of what exactly occurred. Lucas was walking toward us, holding a soccer ball, slightly smiling, and all the other things I mentioned in the beginning of this chapter. Then, the bomb went off. The best way I can describe it is like a flash of light, one that completely enveloped him, as if he was a small ant who had the misfortune of being on top of a candlestick before it ignited. I turned away after that, not only to save my eyes from being burnt out by the brightness, but also so I wouldn't have to see what was left of the poor guy. I never did end up being able to bring myself at Lucas' remains, for all I know the kid could have launched into space, twinkling like a star as he flew out of sight. On a separate note, I'm not sure why all those old comic books have the villains do that star-glimmering thing as they fly out of view from our hero's non-lethal launching attacks. Is that supposed to represent them burning up in space upon leaving earth's atmosphere or something?

Back on topic, the other four soldiers and I just stood in silence for a couple of minutes after that. I may have not seen his body, but judging from the fact that nobody went out to try and help him, I think I'm better off for not having done so. What do you even say when something like that happens? You could always respond with the classic drawn-out 'no', I suppose, but none of the five of us seemed interested in taking that route. When the silence sustains itself for a certain period of time, you know that someone should say something. Regarding what we had just witnessed, the first question that came to mind was "Who takes the blame?" There had to be someone responsible for Lucas' sudden passing. Although Ness was a poor choice for a scapegoat given how little he was involved with the actual planning and precautions in choosing a safe area to stake out, I'm sure the fact that playing ball was his idea caused him a great deal of guilt. I also suspect that Kirby, being the one that kicked the ball over to Lucas, also felt responsible, even though he really had even less influence in the matter than Ness did. Hell, I even felt a bit guilty for the part I played in his death. After all, if I hadn't been there, Lucas probably wouldn't have been in the position to walk straight over a hidden motion sensor bomb while retrieving a soccer ball. I think I've grown more fond of the world of 'What Ifs' in recent years. From a young age I told myself that I'd never become the person who would be so weighed down by regret that they waste their energy perpetually thinking of the things that could have happened rather than the ones that did. I'm not sure what happened to that young man, because today it's all I ever seem to do. Maybe at this point I can waste my time and not care about it any longer, and I'm not sure whether that's a blessing or a curse. One thing I am sure about is that Captain Falcon would probably be feeling the same way if he was still alive today. As far as we were aware, the Captain had been the one with the biggest say in where we chose to stake out, and the overall safety of his men. It shouldn't be any surprise then, that the first words I spoke after Lucas' death, were "We should go tell the Captain," which I suppose was a way of answering that integral unspoken question of who should take the blame.

As you'd expect, the Captain was not pleased to hear of Lucas' passing. In fact, if I'm remembering right, he chose to go with the aforementioned drawn-out 'no', albeit one that was muttered rather than yelled dramatically. He then thanked us for informing him, and gathered some other soldiers to attend to his body. I wish I could say that I got to have another deep conversations with my comrades that night, where we could have discussed what had happened and what all of this could really mean, but the blunt truth is that nobody was really in a mood for talking after that. It didn't help that I wasn't particularly chatty myself, so I really only have myself to blame for the night ending so solemnly. Again I find myself returning to the glorious world of 'What If?' What if I had talked to Kirby, or Ness, or any of the others about what had happened instead of remaining in a defeated silence? What did they have to say about all this? I know Ness was good friends with Lucas, so he probably could have shared a funny story about him tearing his pants in his childhood or something like that. I wish I just had something that could humanize Lucas to me as someone other than the poor chump that got blown to smithereens while retrieving a soccer ball. But unfortunately, I never asked more about what Lucas was like, and thus he will only be remembered as said chump that got blown up. For all I know Kirby could have had something deep and profound to say about the nature of life after seeing a comrade pass on like that, but there's no way for me to know at this point. Most likely though, he probably would have just talked about food, since that's all I can ever remember him talking to me about.

I could go on forever about the great possibilities that could have been brought about had done things a little differently, but I'm writing a memoir here, not a fiction novel. At least, I hope that what I'm writing isn't fiction...


End file.
